


Leave a Mark

by TuppingLiberty



Series: TLIb AU August 2018 [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Frottage, M/M, Pining, T'Challa and M'Baku are CEOs of rival companies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-16 11:05:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: AU August Day 2: T'Challa and M'Baku have made a habit of meeting up in a hotel room and fucking.AU Yeah August first came from this blog: https://lnc2.tumblr.com/post/174925809860/au-yeah-august. I decided to make my own calendar of prompts using this wonderful blog post: http://perfectlyrose.tumblr.com/post/101118660910/au-prompts-masterlist-of-lists. I randomized the lists, then pulled a prompt from each list for 31 days.Today’s prompt is from the list: http://padfootdidit.tumblr.com/post/115251344946/business-aus .   The prompt is: rival CEOs who fuck au





	Leave a Mark

The minute M’Baku is through the hotel room door, T’Challa is on him, pulling him into his arms by his tie and sucking a mark on his neck. M’Baku groans, only just managing to shut the door as T’Challa pulls his shirt from his pants.

“I want you,” T’Challa murmurs against his skin, and yes, it’s nice to be wanted, to feel the keen edge of T’Challa’s desperation.

Still, he has a little dignity left, right? So he pulls T’Challa in for a kiss, drawing it out, trying to soothe some of that desperation. “Dinner?”

T’Challa’s fingers still clasp at his shirt, but he pauses, takes a breath. M’Baku can see the polite yet ruthless CEO persona shutter over the desperation. He’s not sure which he prefers, honestly. “There is a vegetarian entree for you.”

“Lovely! Let’s eat?”

M’Baku is delighted by the slight exasperation that shows in T’Challa’s face.

 

He forces them to talk of everything but their work during dinner. The key, for T’Challa, is to get him talking about his family. It’s his sister that brings a happy smile to T’Challa’s face, and rarely much else. His mother, yes, that, too. The matriarch of Wakanda Industries. But Shuri, Shuri is guaranteed to make T’Challa smile.

So, by the end of dinner, M’Baku has learned everything he could possibly want to know about Shuri’s various current projects. From the pride in T’Challa’s voice, M’Baku can tell who he thinks is the smarter, more valuable sibling of the two.

Still, he can sense the energy boiling just beneath the surface of T’Challa’s skin, the man beneath the CEO veneer, ready to escape. When they’ve both eaten, M'Baku pushes back from the small dining table and pulls his shirt out of his pants, briskly unbuttoning and tossing it over his shoulder. He loves how his body makes T’Challa’s eyes go dark with desire.

From there, it takes little time to move to the couch, sink into T’Challa’s embrace, and let their lust guide them.  

 

M’Baku’s heart is beating out of his chest, it feels like, as T’Challa straddles him, running his hands over his bare stomach and chest and nipping at M’Baku’s ear. The desperation is back, and now it’s infected M’Baku. The part of him that cares for T’Challa, that remembers better days when they were kids going to the same boarding school and getting into trouble and not rivals, that part has been soothed by the meal. Now he can concentrate on giving T’Challa the release he so desperately craves.

“God, I love your thighs,” T’Challa whispers, somewhat wonderingly, despite having seen them many times before. His fingers dig into them as he kisses M’Baku again and again.

There’s a fever running through M’Baku’s skin. Everywhere T’Challa touches, he feels tremors move through his body, centering around his cock. He has always been a fool for this man, and probably always will be. “Then you should fuck them,” he manages, sounding breathless, not caring one iota.

T’Challa looks like that’s the best suggestion he’s heard this year, so M’Baku lifts him, his own hands under T’Challa’s thighs as he walks them back to the suite’s bedroom. He drops T’Challa on the bed abruptly. T’Challa looks pissed at first, then laughs when M’Baku drops right next to him, making him bounce again on the mattress. “Lube?”

T’Challa springs up, rushing over to the small overnight bag he brought with him. “Yes, yes of course. Ah-ha!”

M’Baku wants to grin at T’Challa’s anxious movements, but he’s not sure his heart can take it. Instead, he shimmies out of his pants and boxers and rolls onto his stomach, looking over his shoulder at T’Challa’s face.

Which - well, good choice. Because T’Challa looks thunderstruck, like he does every time. He’s good for M’Baku’s ego like that.

He loves the feel of T’Challa on him, pressing him down. Loves pressing T’Challa down, too, but this is nice right now. T’Challa’s nimble fingers slicking up his inner thighs, groaning as M’Baku clenches them together. T’Challa curses as he slides his cock in between them, biting down on M’Baku’s shoulder as he starts to thrust.

He wraps a hand around M’Baku’s cock and drives them, fast and quick, to their peaks together. There is no time for slowness, tenderness, not with the desperation that has built between them. M’Baku feels T’Challa spill between his legs and comes in T’Challa’s fist.

 

T’Challa pulls away, but only to get a wet handcloth from the bathroom to clean them off. He’s tender with M’Baku’s skin, tender enough that M’Baku has to pretend he’s already drifted off to sleep; can’t dare let T’Challa see the blatant feeling on his face.

 

He feels T’Challa tracing a finger over his still sleep-warm skin. The soft, reverential touch might have been what woke him, but a quick glance at the bedside clock says that it’s his normal time to wake up and work out. T’challa must sense he’s awake, because his touch is slightly harder, massaging into the thighs he professed his love to last night. “We should not keep doing this,” he hears T’Challa mutter.

He’d never been able to fool T’Challa long. He turns away from the clock and the window letting in the first rays of summer morning light, and toward T’Challa’s beautiful face, looking pensive. Of course he’s looking pensive. M’Baku forces a broad grin on his face. “Why not? It’s fun.”

T’Challa rolls his eyes, and M’Baku has to laugh at the typical T’Challa response. “You need more fun in your life. You can’t tell me Shuri hasn’t told you that before.”

T’Challa tsks, pinching M’Baku’s thigh lightly in retaliation. “I have fun.”

“No, you keep everything inside you until it has to burst out.” He throws that thigh over T’Challa’s smaller body, pushing him back to the mattress. “And then you text me to sort you out.”

T’Challa’s fingers draw over the bite mark he’d left on M’Baku’s shoulder last night. M’Baku follows his touch, raises a brow. “Maybe if you had more fun in your life, you wouldn’t get so pent up that you have to leave marks.”

“That is _not_ why I leave marks,” T’Challa growls, pulling M’Baku down for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you like this, please check out my other stuff! :) Comments and Kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> Also feel free to join me in AU august. You are welcome to any of the prompts I use - would love if you leave a comment letting me know you wrote it so I can check it out!
> 
> Happy August!


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